


Ship Week 2020 Flash Fiction

by LittleJustices



Category: Touhou Project
Genre: Dunking on Aleister Crowley, F/F, Flash Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25405054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleJustices/pseuds/LittleJustices
Summary: A collection of flash fiction written for Touhou Ship Week.
Relationships: Hakurei Reimu/Kirisame Marisa, Hakurei Reimu/Komano Aunn, Hakurei Reimu/Yakumo Yukari, Izayoi Sakuya/Alice Margatroid, Kirisame Marisa/Patchouli Knowledge, Maribel Hearn/Usami Renko
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39
Collections: Touhou Ship Week





	1. Along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monday: Reunion
> 
> This reunion takes place between the first and second tracks of Neo-Traditionalism of Japan.

One month. Nearly one month without contact.

One month since Mary took me across space to a derelict satellite and got hurt doing it. One month since she was quarantined for suffering fever and delusions after that. Meanwhile, I was perfectly fine, even though I was with her. Just a dream. Just like it’s supposed to be. 

Not that it was the first time she brought something back out of a dream. When I wasn’t bored out of my skull without her, I’ve been thinking over and over, how can something be real to one person and not another?

When I come to pick her up and ask if she missed me just as much, she smiles a little and says, “No. As a matter of fact, I made some imaginary friends who are all much more thoughtful than you.”

It takes me a second to laugh. Not because I take the joke seriously at first. After a month without hearing Maribel’s voice, I notice her accent for the first time in years. The emphasis on the second syllable and the swallowed short vowels.

I guess she picks up on that, because she asks, “Something wrong, Renko?”

“Nothing. Just in a weird headspace, I guess.” Nobody else is in the parking lot, so I pull her into a quick hug. “It’s good to have you back, Mary.”

She takes the opportunity to steal a peck on my cheek, but when we pull away, she looks distracted. I guess we’re both just feeling off today.

“Since we’re already in the area, want to go sightseeing?”

“Sure. I haven’t really seen any of it.”

We drive to our first stop in silence. It’s good to concentrate on the road, I guess, but given how we usually can’t shut up, it feels awkward. Mary just stares out the window and doesn’t even comment when I have to swerve quickly because I keep glancing at her.

As I pull into one of the parking lots behind Zenkō-ji, Mary asks out of the blue, “Do you ever imagine what would happen if you just disappear one day?”

I almost wing a parked car by looking away at the wrong moment. “Whoa there. You mean like that one Christmas movie?”

“No...” She thinks for a second. “No, the one you’re thinking of is about a man learning what the world would be like if he’d never been born. What I mean is, what if you were there one day, and gone the next? Dead, disappeared, off the grid...”

I’ve learned my lesson and concentrate on parking safely before I say anything. That also gives me time to think a little.

“Can’t say I have. I don’t think most people think about that super hard, except when there’s a story in the news about someone being found dead in their place after weeks, or something.”

“No, I suppose they don’t.” The ‘no’ comes out almost like a sigh, but more a resigned sigh than a sad one.

“Do you?” I look at her again now that we’re parked.

She shrugs, still looking out the passenger-side window. “I didn’t use to.”

“But do you now? Because of the quarantine?”

“No.” Now she sounds impatient, but I’ll take that as an improvement. “The sanatorium just gave me more time to think about it.”

I don’t find an answer to that before she continues.

“I’ve been going into otherworlds for years and coming back every time. One day, I won’t.”

I reach out to put my hand on her knee and she finally looks my way, but not into my eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do,” she says, so sharply I almost pull my hand back. “You’ve learned all about probabilities, right? The one-in-thousand chance comes up eventually.”

I laugh a little through my nose in relief. That finally gets her to look me in the eyes. They’re as unsettling as ever, a shade I can’t really put my finger on, always out of focus like she’s not looking at you.

I love those eyes like a BASE jumper loves the abyss. 

“I guess we’ve both been worried about the same thing, huh?”

“What?” Now she’s making the same expression she always makes when I say something silly. See? Progress.

“I’m scared of you going somewhere I can’t follow. And not coming back. I mean, one month of zero contact was bad enough.”

She puts her own hand on top of mine. “I can’t just stop going, Renko. I can’t turn this off. Neither can you.”

“I don’t want you to stay here with me, Mary. I want to come along with you.”

After taking a moment, we grab our hats and get out of the car. I walk around and take Mary’s hand. There’ll be enough of a crowd no one will pay attention.

“Don’t let go, okay?”

She doesn’t answer, just looks down and squeezes my hand a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an element of addiction, I think, to discovery.
> 
> It feels a little strange to use first person with an established character, but I think it worked better than the third here.
> 
> Please keep your eyes on the road while driving.


	2. Two Cups

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tuesday: Teaching/sharing hobbies

Marisa has taken a book home without permission again. It’s easy to tell by Miss Patchouli’s annoyance. One of the teacups too, it seems.

Hmm. Lime blossom tea next.

Just as the mansion is rising for the night, Marisa strolls right in behind the tea cart and brazenly asks a question about a book she appropriated just the other day. Miss Patchouli regards her with a gleam in her eye that’s either interest or arson; possibly both. Better de-escalate.  


Two cups, Miss Patchouli?

“...Yes, Sakuya. That’ll do.”

Let’s go with a strong black tea.

Time to pour new tea.

More books are piled up on the table, the nearby blackboard is half filled with sketches, and Miss Patchouli is explaining something. “No. To  _ invoke _ means to call  _ in _ . To  _ evoke _ is to call  _ forth _ . That’s the only useful thing Crowley ever wrote.” Marisa questions the particulars.

There is still tea left in the cups, but it’s cold. Best just leave the kettle with a tea light this time. And some snacks.

It’s daybreak, but the library is still active. Marisa has asked a question Miss Patchouli doesn’t know the answer to off the top of her head. That’s a first.

Miss Patchouli rattles off a list of books to reference and her familiar rushes to fetch them.

Coffee for two?

“Yes, thank you.”

Oh, and a light supper.

Another day, another missing book. Or so the librarian says; Miss Patchouli doesn’t seem to have noticed. She is writing down something Marisa said, and her own thoughts on it. A connection she needs to sleep on, she says.

Chamomile, then.

Marisa refuses to announce her visits, but the established pattern says she’ll be by tonight.

A good jasmine tea, two cups from an attractive but expendable set, a box of sandwiches for later, a tiered tray with pastries from the village. (Miss Patchouli only snacks on nuts if at all, while Marisa likes Japanese sweets, but their tastes meet at chestnut-based confections.)

Miss Patchouli raises an eyebrow at the table and looks up. “What’s with that smile, Sakuya?”

Nothing whatsoever, Miss Patchouli.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teaching my own passions and learning about another's are two of the most rewarding experiences I know.
> 
> This one refused to come together until I stumbled on the idea of telling it from a literal third person's perspective. I'm fairly happy with how the point of view came out.
> 
> I waffled for several hours on whether to include or exclude a two-word sentence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday: Secrets
> 
> I am basically ignoring PC-98 Alice in this one.

Imagine a human, a perfectly regular human, who can stop time. Who can bend the ultimate tyrant to her will. And all she does with this power is clean the house and make tea.

Impossible, right?

And yet.  


And the way she offers it:

“Tea, Miss Margatroid?”

In the Queen’s own English, smiling at the library’s guest, as if at a shared secret. As if she knew Alice’s origins.

Impossible, right?

And yet.

Of course, there are any number of explanations, up to and including ‘she’s only messing with you’. Probably, Sakuya just recognized Alice’s accent. But a magician has to know. What kind of witch wouldn’t keep tight control over her past?

She can’t just ask in front of others, of course.

The mansion is large and Sakuya hard to find. She does find Sakuya’s room, though, thanks to helpful fairy maids who think nothing more of it.

To just enter, or…? Maybe she’ll leave a note--

“Tea, Miss Margatroid?”

Right behind her. That same smile, and she really is carrying a teapot and cup.

“No, thank you, Sakuya. I was just wandering around. Since you’re here, though, out of curiosity—did you grow up in England?”

“I’m afraid that’s a secret.”

Her smile widens a fraction. She’s lived with a witch for who knows how long. She knows Alice can’t resist finding out, and Alice knows she knows.

“But perhaps… would you care for a glass of wine in my room, Miss Margatroid?”

“Your room is right here.”

“Oh? That’s a storage room.”

Alice turns around. The door looks different from before, it’s open, and yes, it leads into a storage room.

Impossible, right?

And yet.

When she turns back around, Sakuya curtsies and disappears. No teapot or cup in her hands. Alice smiles. Fine.

Before she was curious; now she’s intrigued.

This time, the door is much harder to find. The fairies insist it’s down this hallway, but there are only empty rooms. Some say it’s in this other hallway, but it’s not there either. One says it only works if you cross the hallway from the other direction after walking around the decorative pillar at the end, and Alice suspects she’s lying, but she tries it anyway. No result… but the door to the storage room is closed and locked now.

They do say the mansion is bigger on the inside than on the outside.

Happily, Alice is never alone. The doll placed on top of a vase is no longer there after Alice rounds the pillar again, but the storage room is still locked. The invisible threads she attached to it, though, are still connected and allow the doll to return to her—appearing out of nowhere behind that pillar.

Come to think of it, aren’t the colors on that painting richer than they were before?

So far, Alice has been walking around the pillar in a counterclockwise direction. What if she tries clockwise?

The doll is sent ahead and vanishes. One turn, there’s the doll, but the door is still locked. Two turns, the door’s unlocked again. And, yes, the painting’s colors are definitely more faded now.

Three turns, the storage room has been emptied out and renovated.

Four turns, and Alice stands in front of the door to Sakuya’s room.

This time, she walks right in. Nobody stops her.

Sakuya isn’t in, but it’s clearly the right room. Bed, closet, secretary desk, personal effects. It seems about the same size as the storage room.

No Sakuya, and no wine, but Alice isn’t about to call it a loss. She leaves a doll on the bed, facing the door, folds up a sheet of paper from the desk to write a note, and gives it to the doll to hold:

_ Nice try. _

When she exits and closes the door behind her, Sakuya is standing in the hallway, looking pleased. Alice raises her eyebrows, and Sakuya acknowledges her victory with a curtsy.

“I’m sad to say something’s come up, Miss Margatroid. May I show you a magic trick of my own to make it up to you?”

“To a real magician? Let’s see it.”

Alice picks a card, looks at it, and lets Sakuya shuffle it back into the deck. The deck passes from hand to hand as the maid mixes it in ways that are more impressive than effective, until she’s holding a small bouquet of flowers in her hand. “Oh!”

“Oh?”

“I’m terribly sorry, that wasn’t supposed to happen.” Sakuya extends the bouquet. “I just don’t know where my head is today. Will you accept this as an apology, Alice?”

“...Thank you. They’re lovely.”

Alice takes the flowers; real flowers, from the garden. When she smells them, she finds a folded sheet of paper in the middle, with the same playing card she picked tucked inside.

On one side of the paper is the note she left in Sakuya’s room:  _ Nice try. _ On the other, it says:

_ I’ll be free at dawn. You know where to find me. _

When she looks up from the note, Sakuya is, of course, already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Margatroid (Murgatroyd) is a deeply British name. It amuses me to imagine Sakuya speaking like a British butler. Both have nebulous pasts. These were the seeds from which this little piece of nonsense grew.
> 
> One can bend time, the other act in many places at once. Each is curious about the other (or so I've decided) and neither likes to lose. There's a lot of potential for complicated, playful struggle, I feel.


	4. What can you do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friday: comfort/care - hurt

Reimu is in a blue mood today.

It’s not hard to tell. Reimu wears her feelings on her sleeve, so even when Aun was still a pair of statues, she had a good idea of her mood on any given day.

It’s not clear what exactly is wrong. After breakfast, Reimu just sat down on the porch and stared into the distance looking a little lost. Aun doesn’t ask—if Reimu wants to talk, she will. Instead, she lies down next to the priestess, in her lion-dog’s body, and quietly prompts her. Reimu lies down, rests her head on Aun’s back, and passes a hand through curly fur. It’s a warm morning, and both doze off.

It’s time for lunch soon, but Reimu doesn’t feel like getting up. Still groggy, she buries her face in Aun’s mane and sighs. She doesn’t share what she’s thinking about, so Aun just offers comfort. It’s more than she could do as a statue.

Reimu used to be alone a lot, though she didn’t seem to mind it so much. Even so, Aun felt a little bad for her those times she was upset and had no one to speak with. But she didn’t pay it too much mind, because what could a statue do?

Then one day, she had a name and could move and speak and do something. Be there.

But now, there are plenty of people who Reimu can turn to on days like this. Reimu hasn’t known Aun even existed for very long, treated her as a stranger the first time.

She gently nudges Reimu, who rubs her face in Aun’s mane one more time and then sits up to stroke her head. Still out of sorts. Aun remembers the times Reimu was upset and she just watched, because a statue couldn’t have helped. But now she can. Now that Reimu has plenty of support beside herself. So  _ couldn’t _ she have helped, somehow, if she was aware enough to know? What  _ could _ a statue have done?

Nothing, probably. It’s probably foolish to fixate on how she couldn’t offer support when Reimu could have used support the most. Foolish, too, to jump up, now on human legs, and try to hug Reimu with human arms for all the times she wishes she could have. She’s doing both anyway.

Reimu sputters. Not because she’s surprised, though she is, but because Aun’s single horn is right in her face and threatening to poke an eye out. She puts one hand around the horn and one on Aun’s back and laughs a little, for the first time today. What good will it do if we’re both down, she says.

After Aun has murmured a sorry and Reimu insisted she doesn’t see what Aun should be apologizing for, they get up. Reimu is still feeling off, but she’s at least motivated enough to make something to eat. Maybe after this, they’ll lie back down.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few things make me feel lower than wanting to help and not knowing how.
> 
> I don't see Reimu as a particularly lonely person; indeed, she probably enjoys a little solitude. But sometimes it helps to have someone, and I imagine Reimu didn't have a lot of that growing up, prior to knowing Marisa and the events of various games.
> 
> I wish I could cuddle a lion-dog. I suppose Tibetan mastiffs come closest.


	5. Drifting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saturday: date - danmaku/magic

Late afternoon heat. The sun is setting. The crowd cheers. You’re cheering, too, right there in the front row.

It’s the best time of day to be watching a duel. Bright enough to see clearly, but shaded enough that the flashes of light really stand out. Plus, the sun isn’t shining right down on you, though the mass of bodies around you is hot enough. You had to take your hat off, because the brim kept hitting people in the face. Everyone’s sweating, of course. At least the combatants get to fly and feel the wind in their face.

The bookie is going around again. You bet on her, of course, on Reimu. She’s always a favorite, but no one understands that better than you. That’s why they keep lowballing her odds, and why you keep winning.

None of them have seen her fight like you have, have known her as long as you. Obviously, you’re the only one who gets to beat her.

A sharp streak of light bursts against Reimu’s barrier, outlines the edges of a cube around her, but then she’s gone.

(The focus is impressive, but a shot that narrow would never hit her. Doesn’t matter how fast it is if she’s already somewhere else. Yeah, you’ve got opinions on lasers.)

Where did she go? After a second, you find her floating higher up. Her posture looks a bit like she’s falling, but she’s not. A bit like she’s drifting on her back in water. That might be closer.

The guy next to you, the one with the pipe, exhales a massive puff of smoke and blows it right into your line of sight. You cuss him out. 

When you try to wave the smoke away, the sight of Reimu through it reminds you of something you’ve seen before. She’s hazy and indistinct, except for the reds which shine through like a torch at night. It really does look like she’s floating in empty space, like a cloud behind more clouds.

You remember the one time you saw her do something like that, over a decade ago. That night was also hot, but you were in the bamboo forest, not in a crowd, which helped. She got that unfocused look in her eyes, and then her body relaxed just like that, like she was floating away. But she didn’t float away from you, or from the ground, just… away. You swear you could see through her. Like she let go of  _ being there _ , of existing.

Then you lost that fight.

You wrote it down, of course; you write everything down. You’ve got your theories. But it’s not something you can just copy. That’s the image that really stuck with you, how she was just drifting, peaceful like a cloud and just as unreachable.

Just like this cloud of pipe smoke that you’ve unconsciously tried to grab instead of waving it away. You look like a fool. She’s not even up there anymore.

She didn’t do that thing you remembered, but she won anyway, which means you also won. Maybe you’ll treat her to dinner.

She comes down, and you go to meet her while the crowd disperses. She’s still floating, just a little off the ground, when you get to her. Always floating, like gravity means nothing to her. On an impulse, you grab her hand and squeeze it. She’s still there. Still real. Just making sure? Nah. You don’t need a reason to hold someone’s hand.

Reimu looks at you and grins, like she always does after winning, and finally lands with both feet. A few moments pass. She looks down at your hand and hers, shakes them a little, and looks back at your face with a raised eyebrow. You just grin back and don’t let go.

She shrugs and squeezes back. “Dinner?”

Yeah. You’re buying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think it was a conscious inspiration while working on it, but this story was probably influenced by a dojinshi called The Weight of Life (いきもののおもみ) by Irohanioedo (いろはにほへと…). It is part of a series which I can heartily recommend. In any case, I like this take enough that I think it stands on its own.
> 
> I have several very specific headcanons about Reimu, and they're almost all esoteric metaphysics.


	6. Day and Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunday: Free day

What a day.

Reimu hasn’t eaten since morning, and not slept since the morning before that. When she gets home in the afternoon, she sits on the shrine’s porch for a rest and dozes off within minutes.

When she wakes up, the sky is orange. For a moment, she’s not sure if it’s dusk or dawn. Let’s see: The shrine is on the east edge of the valley. So if the shrine gate is facing the sun now—

“Good evening, Reimu. How do you do?”

That voice always brings sudden clarity, like hearing a snake hiss in the bush.

There she is, leaning out of a gap in Reimu’s vision as if she were always there, just peeking through the window to chat. That weird singsong accent; purple summer dress; a dangerous smile—it can be friendly, or kind, or mischievous, but it’s always dangerous.

“Depends on if another emergency’s about to drop in my lap.”

Yukari presents a plastic bag with prepared meals and a bottle of rice wine, and Reimu relaxes a little. But not too much.

“Get that in here.”

They eat on the porch, watching the sunset. Reimu fumbles with the unfamiliar packaging to her companion’s quiet amusement and blames fatigue. (And cold tea? In a bottle? Really?)

Neither is much for small talk. After dinner, the remains of which Yukari disposes of to parts unknown, they sit and sip the wine in silence.

Reimu sighs and leans her head against the taller woman’s shoulder as fatigue wins over tension. Too tiring to be on one’s guard all the time. Yukari mirrors the gesture and rests her own head on Reimu’s. The latter answers with a sound that’s one part acceptance, several parts annoyance.

“What are you acting all tired for? You’re lazier than the cat.”

“That’s not true. I’ve been extremely busy.”

“Oh yeah?”

“It takes so much running just to stay in place, let alone get anywhere.”

Reimu doesn’t bother asking what Yukari’s been busy with. She’ll just keep deflecting anyway.

A light breeze picks up. Reimu empties another cup and raises her head to look at Yukari. “Aren’t you supposed to understand people better the more you know them?”

“Is that so?”

You wouldn’t know, Reimu supposes. “I’m getting ready for bed.”

“Should I leave you, then?”

“No.”

It’s still not quite dark out, but Reimu lies down on her futon and Yukari sits beside her. The hand stroking her forehead makes her sleepy. At the same time, it’s like standing at a cliff and staring down.

But sometimes, it’s comforting to let whatever happens happen. She puts a hand on Yukari’s shoulder and tugs on it to pull her down.

When Reimu briefly wakes up in the middle of the night, she’s alone under the sheets and hugging a big, fluffy pillow. She buries her face in it and falls back asleep.

At the first crack of dawn, Reimu wakes up to movement in her futon.

The big pillow is gone—did she dream it?—but Yukari is there, hugging her from behind and mumbling quietly. She knows the feeling well enough to tell without shifting to see, but Yukari notices she’s awake.

“Did I wake you up?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you like some breakfast as an apology?”

“Sure.”

“Then I’d like to stay like this a little while first, if you don’t mind. I won’t be long.”

Reimu  _ mmhmm _ s in response. “Just don’t fall asleep before the sun’s done rising.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an old-fashioned, poetic term for twilight (similar to the "witching hour" for midnight in English) which translates more or less to "the hour of meeting evil spirits". It's a time when it's ambiguous whether it's still day or already night.
> 
> Just inject the dualism of Yukari and Reimu straight into my veins.


End file.
